


Mick Rory and the Stupid Kinky Shit Aliens

by rebooting



Series: AtomWave Troping Across The Universe [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8854096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebooting/pseuds/rebooting
Summary: Mick and Ray are captured by aliens, who want to observe human mating. Ray's freaked out, Mick's unimpressed, and the aftermath isn't as messy as it could have been but still kind of messy.





	

It would figure that the first aliens they met - not counting the fuck-the-enhanced grey guys or the blonde from the other reality, however the hell _that_ worked; no, it would figure that the first aliens they met _on their own terms_ would turn out to be assholes.

Mick was used to people turning out to be assholes, and he'd have thought Ray was getting used to it too, but something in the science babble the aliens had spouted off to Ray while hustling the two of them into the bare little cell had obviously touched a nerve, because Mick was on _this_ side of the cell wishing there was something he could punch and Ray was on _that_ side of the cell looking as though he was about to be sick.

"Okay, Haircut," Mick said eventually, after he got tired of watching Ray pace and try to start to say something half a dozen times. "What'd they say that's got you so worked up? They going to lobotomise us or something?"

Ray looked even sicker. "God, I wish. No, they're - they say they're _anthropologists_. They want to..." He swallowed. "They want to see how our species reproduces."

Mick blinked. Pondered that. "They know _we_ can't _reproduce_ , right? Least, not with just the two of us."

Ray let out a harsh little bark of a laugh. "I tried to explain that. They're mostly interested in the... mechanics."

Mick pondered that a bit more. "Did they say they'd let us go back to the jump ship if we played along with their little personal porno?"

"I didn't ask!"

"Jeez, just asking." Mick frowned, eyeing Ray. "But they aren't acting like they want to take us apart, right? Just like they want to see the weird aliens screwing because it's fascinating to you brainy types?"

"Something like that." Ray swallowed convulsively. "They apologised for the necessity of locking us up. I think that's a good sign."

"Okay." Mick leaned back against the wall, considering the situation. "If it'll get us out, I'm for it."

"You can't be serious."

Mick shrugged. "You can go on top if it'll make you feel better."

Ray gave him a sick-looking smile and gestured vaguely to his own groin. "I really couldn't."

Well, that made as much sense as it didn't. Some guys had trouble getting it up in not-ideal situations, and Mick figured this was pretty much the worst situation to be trying to get a hard-on. He'd never had that problem before, though, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the aliens would be only too happy to lend a helping hand if both of them ended up having performance issues, anyway.

"Okay," he said again. "Then I figure we've got two choices. Wait to see if the others figure out where we are, and in the meantime anything they give us to eat or drink might be laced with something to make us want to go at it. Or we do it now while we can still think straight."

"God, you're right." Ray looked stricken. "They could just drug us, couldn't they? I guess choosing to do it _is_ better than having no choice at all."

Ray's skin was an unhealthy shade of pale by now, but Mick figured it wasn't anything about the _gay_ part; Ray didn't have any problems with Sara. So it was something else, and if _he_ wasn't going to calm himself down, Mick was going to have to figure out how to do it.

"Go ask if they'll let us go after," he said, waving a hand lazily. "While you're at it, tell them we're gonna need some stuff. Bareback's fine, but I'm not doing it dry. Nobody's having fun like that. And someplace with _furniture_."

Mick might be dumb muscle, but he wasn't _stupid_. If Ray had to concentrate on communicating with the aliens, he wouldn't be concentrating on what they had to do.

The aliens might be kinky little shits, but they were _cooperative_ kinky little shits, at least. They gave Ray a piece of paper and a weird-ass pen thing to write down the list of things he wanted - because apparently he was calling the shots, since he was the science guy, an assumption Mick would ordinarily have an issue with but didn't make a fuss about right now, since Ray looked like he was going to shake himself apart with how tense he was. He just took the pen-thing and paper and wrote down a list of things he wanted. So not all of it was strictly necessary. The aliens didn't know that, did they?

They were escorted - at gunpoint, and the bastards had taken Mick's heat gun, something he'd pay them back for later - to a new, different cell, this one meeting Mick's "more, _any_ furniture" requirement. There was a bed, a table, and a couch, all three bolted down. A crate sat on the table, no doubt containing the things Mick had said were _vital_ for human procreation rituals. And there was a thing in an upper corner that Mick was pretty damn sure was a camera. He'd been in enough high-security facilities to recognise CCTV when he saw it.

He let Ray go into the cell first, and then turned to one of their captors. "We have a deal, right?" he asked softly, his tone menacing. "Make the most of this, because it's a one-time deal."

He didn't wait for a response; he followed Ray into the cell, not bothering to listen for the lock engaging behind them. He went over to the crate on the table and went through its contents, perversely pleased to find that they'd included everything on his list, or what he assumed were local approximations of them.

He took out the bottle and cups - plastic, because _of course_ they couldn't have anything that could be made into a weapon - and poured them both a drink. He handed Ray the much fuller cup, keeping his own covered by his hand to disguise how full it was. Ray had done the hard part by saying he'd do it in the first place; now he had to relax, and Mick didn't know a better way to do that than booze.

"What is this?" Ray asked, frowning after he took his first sip. It wasn't like alcohol was a _subtle_ taste. Mick tipped the cup up with his fingertips, an unspoken command to keep drinking, and took a swallow of his own drink. Not bad, for alien voyeur booze.

"It'll help you relax," he said. It wasn't a lie.

He got two cups of the stuff into Ray under the pretence of still going through the crate. They'd included the lube he'd insisted was necessary - because it _was_ , because like hell he was fucking someone like Ray without it, not when the mood was as far from good as it could get - and they'd included the condoms that he usually wouldn't bother with but figured Ray would appreciate later, when they got back to the Waverider and Ray started to think about things like diseases. Mick was pretty sure he didn't have anything, but this way Ray wouldn't have _that_ to worry about.

They'd included some stuff he _hadn't_ asked for and wasn't going to use, stuff that made him suspect that either they'd had their hands on other humans before or there were other human-ish-shaped aliens out there (not that unlikely, considering how Skirt looked as human as Sara) who were into kinky shit. The idea of using some of that stuff on Ray wasn't a _bad_ idea, but not like this. This wasn't "introduce Ray Palmer to blindfolds and handcuffs" time; this was "try not to break your teammate" time, and Mick wasn't used to having to think along those lines. Better not to introduce complications like _preferences_.

There _was_ a little box containing a couple of pills, and there was a little diagram that made it obvious what _those_ were for, and it turned out that Ray looking like he was _scared_ was a turn-off, so Mick popped one of those pills while Ray wasn't looking, washing it down with the half-cup of booze he'd poured himself. Better not to introduce _that_ to Ray, either, Mick figured. He'd be relaxed enough from the alcohol that it should be bearable; he didn't want to go and confuse the guy by making him get an hour-long hard-on or something if the aliens' magic pills turned out to be calibrated wrong or something.

Ray looked less like he was going to fall apart after the second cup of the alien hooch, so Mick stuck a condom and a tube of lube into his pocket and guided Ray over to the couch, avoiding the bed altogether. No need to muddy things up by going and romanticising shit that wasn't romantic.

That didn't mean he was going to just be all wham, bam, thank you ma'am about it. Ray deserved better than that, especially if this was his first time with a guy, the way Mick was pretty sure it was. Mick didn't have a lot of what people called ethics or morals or "being a fucking decent human being, Mick Rory", but he had a vague inkling that it was nice to make sure someone's first sexual experience of a particular kind wasn't a terrible one. And he liked to think he was a considerate enough sex partner, anyway. What was the point in being a dick to your fuckbuddies? They wouldn't come back if you did that, and then you'd have to find new ones.

He sat Ray down on the couch, noting with some approval how much difficulty Ray was having not getting his feet tangled up, and took the opportunity to get rid of their shirts, because the stupid kinky shit aliens had kicked up the temperature in the cell, he was pretty sure. Ray might be flushed from drinking, but Mick hadn't had enough to be more than a bit buzzed, and besides, he _knew_ heat. _Someone_ out there was tampering.

Ray was decently-built under the science bullshit and the stupid suit. If the circumstances had been different, Mick wouldn't have minded spending a bit of time getting to know exactly which parts of his body made him make interesting noises when they got bitten. They were on a timetable, though - he wanted to be back on the Waverider by the time Ray sobered up - so he took shortcuts, diving into a deep kiss and pressing Ray back against the couch, rubbing his thumbs over Ray's nipples until Ray gasped into the kiss, arching his chest against Mick's hands.

Mick had never been into seduction, not the way Len could be when he wanted, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to play someone's body when it counted, and the drink he'd poured into Ray was helping as far as relaxing was concerned. Mick's hands skating over Ray's chest and down across the flat plane of his stomach earned little gasps that _sounded_ like Ray was enjoying it as much as anyone enjoyed drunk sex, and eventually he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Ray's pants and tugged them down, breaking the kiss so he could get them, and his own jeans, off all the way.

The aliens better damn well appreciate their strip show.

"Mick," Ray started to say when he sat down on the couch again, looking uncertain, and that wasn't an expression that Mick wanted to see right now, not when Ray _also_ looked like he was about to start interrupting things with too much talking than was good for either of them right now. So he scooped up his cup, which still had a good half a cup of the alien booze in it, and gave Ray another kiss before holding it to his lips, figuring that the less Ray had to think about things, the better off he'd be.

The stuff hit hard and fast, it had that going for it; by the time Mick put the empty cup down, Ray had obviously forgotten whatever it was he'd been about to say and was lying boneless on the couch. There was a tiny frown furrowing his brow and he kept prodding at Mick's chest like he was trying to make a point, but Mick couldn't figure out what it was, and whatever it was, it could wait. He had a job to do, to get them both home.

The first lube-coated finger that he rubbed against Ray's hole made Ray yelp and tense up, so he switched up positions, sitting on the couch with Ray's legs over his lap so he could pat Ray's stomach to calm him down. He'd been with jumpy guys before, but Ray took the cake; it was understandable, so Mick didn't mind when Ray twined his fingers through Mick's free hand. If that helped, then sure, he'd hold hands. Maybe that's what guys like Ray did when they were scared. Not everyone dealt with fear by punching it or shoving it away in a little black space in the back of their mind that the Time Masters had put there a long, long time ago without even realising it.

He had to keep going eventually, so he kept holding onto Ray's hand, and eventually he figured that talking made it easier for Ray to relax. Trust the Boy Scout to be a _talker_. Mick didn't go in for sweet nothings - his pillow talk tended to be more about the heists that he and whoever he was fucking had either just done or were about to do - so he dredged one-sided conversation out of the shared experiences they'd had on the Waverider, rambling about how the alcohol in Japan had been weird but at least it'd been _available_ , not like _Chicago_ , how about never going to Chicago again, it's not like they even had a good baseball team, and how he didn't get what Ray saw in the hats every time they went to the Wild West but at least people knew how to have fun there, and eventually he had two fingers inside Ray and every movement was getting a soft little whimper that sounded more like the sort of thing Mick liked to hear during sex.

Bothering with condoms was _weird_ , but Ray would feel better about it if he did, so Mick tore the foil package open and rolled the stupid thing (yeah, yeah, they were useful and great and all that shit; he still thought they looked _stupid_ ) on, twisting his fingers inside Ray again to try to open him up a bit more. It wasn't going to be fun for either of them whatever he did, but he could at least admit he didn't want to _hurt_ Ray. You didn't just fuck your teammate bloody unless you'd made an agreement that that's what they wanted.

All the prep in the world wasn't going to make the first time easy, and Mick figured the best thing to do would be to get it over with. He'd done as much as he could, between the alcohol and the lube, and he didn't want the aliens to start getting impatient or for the booze to start wearing off. He leaned down to give Ray one more kiss before he hoisted the other man up onto his knees, draping him over the arm of the couch for support, and pressed in as cleanly as he could.

The sound Ray made wasn't quite pain and wasn't quite pleasure either, and Mick didn't like it. There was a time and a place for people making sounds that didn't know whether they were pain or pleasure but they still shouldn't sound like _that_ , confused and lost. He leaned over Ray's back to press kisses to his shoulders, half-hoping that that'd help, and found the compromise between fast enough to finish things off quickly enough for both of them to be able to live with it and slow enough to make sure Ray wouldn't be feeling it _too_ badly later.

Ray was right about one thing, though - there was no way he was going to be able to be on top, not without help. Even now, he was barely half-hard, and Mick wasn't sure he was going to get the rest of the way before they were done.

Maybe that was better. Mick knew enough about how some people reacted to this sort of thing - okay, not exactly this sort of thing, but _enough like this sort of thing_ \- to know that maybe _not_ having any physical evidence of having _enjoyed_ it would make it easier on Ray.

He shoved that thought into the little black space where he put other inconvenient thoughts and kept dropping light kisses on Ray's shoulders and neck, a ridiculous counterpoint to the speed and roughness of his thrusts. It took longer than he usually did to come, but who could blame him for that? Not everyone was a _performer_ , especially for stupid kinky shit aliens who didn't have any consideration for nerd scientist sensibilities.

Ray never got more than half-hard the whole way through. When Mick was done, he pulled out and went back over to the crate, where the aliens had put the things he'd requested to clean them up afterward. The condom and the rest of the lube went into the trash bag, and he used the wipes to clean the traces of lube off Ray's skin, only then realising that at some point, Ray had passed out. From the alcohol or because Mick was being rougher than he'd thought or some other reason, Mick didn't know. He wasn't a damn doctor.

If they were lucky, it was just the alcohol, and it'd happened early. That'd be better for everyone.

He finished cleaning them both up and then spent a few minutes putting something together with the stuff that the aliens had so _helpfully_ provided, like human sex involved baking a cake or something. He pounded on the door to the cell until one of the kinky shit aliens (that was their official designation now; he was calling it) came to talk to him. And then Mick displayed a _lot_ of restraint and only set off a very, very small flour bomb as a way of proving a point, growling, "I could've killed you. Didn't. Take us back to our damn ship."

 

The Waverider picked them up before Ray woke up, so Mick got to explain everything. Which he did by saying, "Haircut needs to be checked out. You or you," with a point to Sara and Martin, and a glower at everyone else. "And stay the hell out of his dreams, Gideon."

Leaving them to it - because _he_ wasn't a doctor, and he was pretty sure Ray wasn't going to want _him_ around when he regained consciousness - he headed to his bunk, where he could get nice and drunk on his _own_ damn booze, not some stupid kinky shit alien stuff.

Trust Sara not to leave well enough alone. He hadn't been drinking for more than half an hour before she came into his room, and she didn't look nearly pissed enough to have got the whole story out of Ray. Hell, Ray was probably still _unconscious_ , what with the two-and-a-half cups of alien booze and the not exactly okay sex on top of it.

"What." It came out flat, instead of a question, but that was fine. Mick wasn't really _asking_ , anyway; he knew what was wrong.

"You want to tell me what the hell happened back there?" Sara demanded. "Ray smells like you've both been to some sort of intergalactic bar, but we both know that's not what happened. Not with what Gideon's picking up from his subconscious."

"Damn it, Sara, I told you to keep the computer out of his head!" _Now_ Mick was angry, when he hadn't really been angry the whole time the stupid kinky shit aliens had had them. He'd been _irritated_ , and he'd been kind of concerned about Ray, but he hadn't been _angry_ , not the way he was now. He tossed his bottle aside, not caring when he heard it shatter against the wall, and snapped, "He's had enough of that shit. Let him keep his dreams to himself."

Sara went completely still for an instant, and then said, too quietly, "Tell me what happened."

"Aliens wanted us to fuck." He scowled at the broken glass in the puddle of sticky liquid, rummaging in his stash for another bottle; one drink was pretty much the same as another right now. "Some science shit, I don't know. _Information_. Ray couldn't get it up, so I did it. Got him drunk enough that he won't remember most of it. He doesn't have to worry about catching anything, if he asks. Just get him patched up and you or the Professor talk to him, make sure he's okay. It'll be easier from you."

Sara watched him for a few moments, still too quiet, and then said, "Gideon says he's not thinking-"

"I don't want to know what Gideon says," Mick snapped. "Not if she's getting it from his head. Tell her to stay out, Sara."

He couldn't say why that was important, but it was. After a moment, Sara nodded, and then she squeezed his shoulder. Like _he_ had anything to cry about.

"You know where to find me," she said softly, leaving him to his drinking.

Mick ignored Gideon for several days, taking juvenile pleasure in irritating her. Stupid computer deserved it, ferreting around in Ray's brain like that after what he'd been through. The only thing he listened to was a dry recitation of how Ray was doing, to reassure himself that he hadn't done any real harm. There hadn't even been any alcohol poisoning. And there was no perceptible difference in the way Ray walked after he woke up, at least. Gideon was good for _something_.

He could tell when Ray had started talking to Martin about what had happened; Martin - and Jax, because of their freaky mind-meld shit - started giving him weird looks. Not hostile ones, which was about what Mick had expected, just... _weird_. He didn't know how to interpret them, and he was starting to miss having a non-hallucinatory Len around to decipher people for him.

Two weeks after _it_ had happened, give or take, Ray cornered him in the - what were they calling it? Mess hall? It wasn't really a _hall_. Whatever they were calling it, Ray cornered him there late one night when he was eating donuts, having successfully avoided meeting anyone else over dinner by the cunning plan of _not being around at dinner time_ , not in the mood to deal with Martin and Jax's weird looks or _Sara's_ weird looks, either, or the way Nate and Amaya obviously knew _something_ was going on but not _what_ it was.

"Hey." Ray dropped into the chair opposite Mick, giving him an awkward smile. "You've been avoiding me."

Mick shrugged. "Figured you'd want me to."

"You thought I'd - why would you think that?" There was that puzzled little frown again, and Mick almost expected Ray to start prodding his chest the way he had when he'd been off his face on alien booze. "Look, Mick, we both know I wasn't going to be able get us out of there. I wanted to let you know that I appreciate that you could."

"Don't give me that," Mick said tiredly. "You don't have to be _nice_ to me about it."

Ray got that look on his face like he was struggling to understand something deeply perplexing, and it was weird being on the receiving end of that look. Usually something science-y was on the receiving end of that look. "I know it wasn't ideal, but..."

" _Not ideal_." Mick let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "You remember what I had to do to get you to relax enough not to tear you apart? I know you, Haircut, you're not the drunk one-night-stand guy. So don't try to pretend we're good."

"Mick." Ray leaned across the table, concern writ large across his always-so-earnest face. "Is that why you've been avoiding me? You think I'm upset with you?"

"You didn't want it," Mick pointed out, as if explaining to a child. "Even I know what that means."

"If it comes to it, neither did you," Ray countered. "Which makes me as bad as you, if we're going to play that game."

Mick knew what Ray was trying to do. He was trying to be the nice, good teammate and spare Mick's feelings about what they'd done - what _Mick_ had done to _him_ , because it wasn't like Ray had been in any frame of mind to be an active participant. Well, that was all damn noble, but it didn't change facts.

"You're telling me you're not having nightmares?" he asked bluntly. When Ray paled, just a little, Mick said, "You're not waking anyone up with them. Not a screamer. But you're having them. So we're not okay."

"It's not _your_ fault," Ray said, the words coming out slowly now, like he was trying to figure out exactly what to say. People didn't usually have that problem around Mick; they figured he was blunt, they could be blunt back. Ray, though, reached over to steal one of Mick's donuts, and Mick let him because he didn't want to see Ray flinch if he touched him.

It wasn't like they were some after school special or something, but you saw enough of it in prison. Mick had always been big enough that he'd never had to worry about it, but that didn't mean he hadn't seen guys who hadn't been that lucky.

Ray bit into the donut. Made a face at how sweet the icing was, because Mick always made a point of getting the things extra-sweet because they were _his_ and they'd damn well be to his taste. His throat worked as he swallowed, reminding Mick of the way he'd been acting right after the aliens told them what they'd wanted, and then he put down the donut and laced his fingers together like a kid about to give a presentation.

"Okay," he said quietly. "I'm having nightmares. But they're not about _you_. Or, well, okay, you're _in_ them, but they're not _about_ you. And don't think Gideon hasn't told me that you haven't been sleeping well either."

Mick shrugged that off; of course he hadn't been sleeping well. That was what the booze was for.

"Do you want to know what they're about?" Ray asked.

"They're your dreams," Mick grunted, wishing he'd brought something to drink to go along with his donuts. "You don't have to tell me anything."

"They're about the aliens," Ray said, gazing at his donut and reluctantly taking a bite from the least-iced part he could find. "About the... situation, sure, but the part that you're in isn't the bad part, Mick. You didn't get us into that situation. You got us _out_ of it, and I know you made it as easy on me as you could. So stop feeling like I'm mad at you. I'm not."

"So why're the professor and the kid looking at me like they want to punch me?"

Ray's eyes widened, and he leaned back in his chair, watching Mick for a long, silent moment before he replied. "They aren't, Mick. They're looking at you that way because now they know you'll take the punch to the gut if it gets your teammate out of a bad situation, and they're worried about you, because _I've_ been talking to Martin but you haven't been talking to anyone."

Mick threw his donut at the wall. It didn't make the satisfying smash that glass did, but the impulsive violence made him feel a bit better.

"Damn it, Ray, I'm not the one who-"

"Don't," Ray interrupted. " _They_ made us do it. If I was raped, so were you. And you're the one who took on having to _remember_ it all."

"Seemed like the best idea at the time." Mick shrugged, picking out another donut. This one had yellow sprinkles. "You're good in a fight and for the science stuff, but you were freaking out. Figured the drink would help you relax."

"Well, you figured right." Ray chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I don't remember much of it. Just enough to know that you made it as easy as you could, and enough to be worried about you. I'm talking to someone about it. Do you have anyone?"

Mick gave a noncommittal shrug over that. He had the hallucination Len, but he didn't think Ray would find that all that reassuring.

"Well." And there was that puppy-smile look that Ray did so well, and he reached across the table. Mick took his hand on instinct, the way he had when Ray had reached for him back in the cell. "Maybe you can talk to me."


End file.
